


Blind

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Saiyuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Archival Fic, Community: springkink, Don't copy to another site, Less Hatesex than Strong Dislike Sex, M/M, Stand-Ins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. This is not one of those times.
Relationships: Cho Hakkai/Genjo Sanzo (one-sided), Cho Hakkai/Ni Jianyi | Ukoku
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Back to working on moving stuff over from the spambot...this one's from 2007, for a springkink prompt: April 2, #12. Saiyuki, Nii/Hakkai: Wallsex - "Glasses off"

It's been five times, maybe six--and he's lying to himself; it's been eight, and he knows this without having to think about it, because the count that's building in his mind _stays_ in his mind--and he still doesn't know why. That isn't a lie; it doesn't comfort him like a lie would, or like a lie should even if it doesn't quite succeed. He honestly has no idea why he's here, in a stinking alley in a tiny little town that's not even struggling to survive anymore, and he thinks-- _That's ironic_. Because he's not struggling either.

The bar masquerading as an inn is one of the few structures in town that looks like it has any claim to permanence, and it's the back wall of this bar that he's pressed up against, splinters digging into his palms, bowed head shying away from finding a resting place on the weather-beaten wood. The wall is already stained, and he doesn't want to know what with, not with so many youkai passing through every day.

He thinks _I hate India_ , but it's a distant realization, oft repeated and easily ignored.

Gojyo is on the other side of this wall somewhere, drinking with Sanzo or bickering with Goku. Flirting with the waitress, maybe, but only--he swears--to keep his hand in. The wall Hakkai is braced against seems very thick, though he can almost make out the conversations from the bar through the wood, " _Bring the fucking bottle_ ," and " _Hey, is that our food_?"

"It's supposed to rain tomorrow," the man at his back says offhandedly, like they always talk about the weather, and Hakkai digs his nails a little deeper into the wall. Hands reach around and close on his belt, and he could stop this right now, throw an elbow back and turn fucking into fighting, but his lips are already marked by kisses--swollen, bitten--like his neck, his shoulders. He's already going to be turning in early, maybe turning in _late_ , after all the lights go out, and it really is far too late to change his mind.

"Pretty nice tonight, though. Almost like summer. At least you won't get cold, right? I mean," the other man says with a hint of laughter, "we could always do this somewhere else if you wanted. Your room, maybe?"

Sanzo is also on the other side of this wall, and Hakkai can almost picture him, a point of stillness in the restless shadows of the bar, ribbons of pale smoke rising from his fingers, his lips. Goku calls the priest his sun, completely unaware of how ridiculous it is that anyone could be anyone else's light, but with his white robes and bright hair--his eyes; the stark, angular purity of bone and glare and motion--Sanzo does shine a little, if you know what to look for.

His clothes slither down his thighs when they're pushed, and he flinches from the slide of hands without meaning to, without wanting to show that much response. What he does in these alleys, against these walls, has nothing to do with anyone--it's just bodies, heat, and nothing else--and he doesn't mean to give the other man the satisfaction. He doesn't mean to let on that any of this bothers him, because he knows it will only become a weapon later on.

Somewhere inside there are raised voices that echo right through the wall, and he hears: " _Saaanzo_!" and " _Gojyo, you pig_!" He wishes sometimes that he had Goku's enthusiasm, his patience, that things could ever be that simple for him, because even when Goku doesn't get quite what he wants, he's still happy with what he has. Goku's like some deceptively simple Buddhist parable, or would be if he weren't so deeply immersed in the world, bound up helplessly in food and fighting and chasing a priest who doesn't give a damn.

He doesn't say anything as two hands spread his ass, as a slick cock presses against his dry opening and pauses there, waiting.

"But I guess that'd be hard to explain. Wouldn't it?"

Explain. Indeed. Because he doesn't have any explanation for this at all, for why he's hissing out a slow, tense breath as he's filled almost without warning, certainly without preparation, or for why it's just what he craves. The man at his back is a heretic Sanzo who meets him each time in a calculated gamble, and Hakkai isn't blind to the symbolism. He has everything and nothing that he wants at the same time, and there might just be a parable in that too somewhere.

When Ni Jianyi first pushed him against this wall, the man had smiled at him like he was happy to see Hakkai, like they were the normal kind of lovers who counted the days between meetings and kept stolen moments fresh in their minds. Ni had kissed him softly, slowly, and Hakkai had watched with wordless disbelief as glasses were slipped off, tucked into a pocket. _He looks...different_ , he'd thought, stomach clenching uneasily.

He doesn't look back now, doesn't care what face the man fucking him wears. What he cares about his how it feels to be rocked forward by eager hips that don't _stop_ , to be filled with an insistent burn that doesn't give a damn what he thinks about it, the bitter tang of stale cigarette smoke hovering over his shoulder. _Different with his glasses off_ , he thinks again, and...symbolism. He's not blind to it.

He's only blind when he wants to be.


End file.
